


#058. Dinner.

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They do not see each other very often anymore. Not since he moved. It’s weird, Sergio thinks, how broken he had been back then. How it had felt like his whole world had crumbled into pieces around him. How lost he had felt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#058. Dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> Started as one thing; end up as something completely different. I wrote this because I'm in a shit mood today. Not only am i ill as fuck (excuse my language) and have to miss out on The Wanted concert in Liverpool, but then i find out that Torres wasn't called up for the national team and well...

 

They do not see each other very often anymore. Not since he moved. It’s weird, Sergio thinks, how broken he had been back then. How it had felt like his whole world had crumbled into pieces around him. How lost he had felt.

He continues to think about this as he moves around in the kitchen, setting the table, pouring himself a glass of his favourite wine.

It is weird, he thinks, how all that hurt and despair just vanished one day. How he no longer felt tears sting in his eyes as he walked by their cafe or when he heard his name.

Sergio takes his time, places the cutlery perfectly beside the plates. Places the napkins accordingly. The glasses.  
  
The light in his spacious kitchen is dim, and there are some candles lit on the table.  
  
He takes another sip of his wine as he hums along to the soft tunes escaping from his kitchen radio, hidden behind his favourite plant.

The doorbell rings and he makes his way to get the door, pulling a soaked Iker back into the kitchen when he returns.  
They laugh and talk throughout the dinner Sergio has prepared. They hold hands. It is easy and simple; the transition from friends to lovers was easy.

But it is weird, Sergio thinks, how he should be happy when Iker drags him up the stairs, and how he’s not. How he feels okay most of the time, how he doesn’t yearn for the freckles, how he doesn’t love him.  He doesn’t, not when Iker is attacking his neck, biting sucking. When he is pushing him down and onto the bed. There aren’t any flashbacks of all the times he was in the same position, just with a man with golden blonde hair.

There isn’t.

Yet, Sergio thinks, it’s weird how all that amounts to nothing, when he finds himself sneak out of bed, leaving a sleeping Iker alone in his bed, to takes his regular place in his garden, in front of the old tree that provides him with a shadow during the long and hot day.  
It is weird, how all it takes is one phone call, one second of hearing his breathing, his voice, his low mumurs and confessions through the phone, to have him realise that he’s just as broken.


End file.
